


Wondering

by GlynnisIsta8



Series: ShieldShock Seasons Aesthetic [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Awesome Darcy Lewis, Bittersweet, Bodyguard, Denial, F/M, Fall Aesthetic, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, Language, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Relationship, Repressed Pining, sad Steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-24 07:03:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8362219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlynnisIsta8/pseuds/GlynnisIsta8
Summary: Autumn 2015-  1 ½ yrs since the fall of SHIELD, 1 yr after the Dark Elves, 6 mos after Ultron
Steve agrees to protect a friend of Thor's from a pending threat.  Angry with himself over Bucky's torture and brainwashing and still grieving all he lost in the 20th century- he's in no frame of mind to spend time in a homey, idyllic setting with a woman who might be perfect for him.





	

##  **Wondering…**

Steve had no idea that agreeing to do Thor a favor would gouge the wounds in his soul.  

His heart clenched when he saw the house and girl, his charges to protect.  Like Clint’s farm, the place was practically idyllic- from its welcoming porch to its picturesque vegetable gardens and orchard. Worse, the friendly girl enchanted and excited feelings long dormant. Her intelligent eyes and pin-up curves melted his brain- when he could stop admiring her gorgeous, spicy, strong smile.   

Darcy had no idea that the ‘ _ultimate male_ ’ she’d fantasized about during boring History lectures and while watching recent news coverage of Avenger battles would be so brittle, resentful of happiness, and out of touch with his PTSD-ridden emotions. Short of shouting, ‘ _stop being an ass to yourself,’_ there was little to do. Even scowling and withdrawing like a hermit crab, he looked hot as sin. But one glimpse into his eyes revealed a man broken.  So, she treated him the same as any other sad creature.  She fed and encouraged him and NUDGED him (didn’t push) as hard as she wanted, towards worthwhile human experiences.   

He remained distant and formal and she did her best to do the same.

Steve was grateful that Darcy didn’t act like many ‘ _fangirls_ ’ had since he’d come out of the ice.  Thor had mentioned that Darcy found Captain America handsome and heroic.  So, Tony teased him to ‘ _double-lock the chastity belt and be ready to beat her off with a stick_ ’. His initial relief in her apparently platonic approach to him faded more each moment they were together.  Steve was grateful that she was kind, but…

Everything Darcy did to try to put him at ease made him feel worse- aware that he was a lost man, banished from his home time, and that he had failed his brother (in all but blood) for far too long.  He didn’t even feel worthy of Darcy’s friendliness.  She showed him to a guest room with thick, hand-sewn quilts to warm him against the onset of autumn.  Homey scents wafted from her kitchen- heavenly pastries and coffee with bite. Everything she did with artless generosity teased him to recall fantasies of what he’d once wanted, but now didn’t deserve.  And every comfort she gave him made him wonder how Bucky was surviving, alone and on the run.

The quaint timelessness of the nearby town mocked Steve’s lost century.  Falling leaves fading from brilliance to dried dust echoed his beloved Peggy’s waning days. It was almost more than he could bear.  He’d taken a different path.  The call of battle redirected his thoughts from longings and wistfulness until he could hardly imagine life without war. He’d become ‘ _the perfect soldier_ ’ to shield himself from his grief. Busily avenging life’s wrongs left him little time to remember, to feel.

The pain of loss was too great. He didn’t want to feel it.  Strong as he was, he wasn’t sure he could survive it.

But here with Darcy, he had time to think and wish. He had time to wonder.

The surroundings worked on him.  Life on her farm was peaceful, warm, and simple. His occupation, once security measures were in place, was to watch over a beautiful, vibrant woman. Her curves reminded him of dreams from days gone by.  Her bawdy humor reminded him of friends long dead (worse, of Bucky, of Peggy). The temptation he found in Darcy was too much for his closed-off heart and his long-suffering, malnourished libido.  At first, in fear of the pain, he could hardly be civil.

Darcy’s greatest strength, her perceptive nature, wounded her now.  Darcy went without her glasses for several days, hoping that if she couldn’t see Steve’s tormented eyes as well, she’d be less affected.  Several bruises later, she abandoned that plan and lectured her heart to behave. Glasses back in place, she threw herself into her daily tasks with fervor.  Her kitten, Celeste, was startled to receive so many unexpected cuddles that Darcy couldn’t give to the man who needed them.  Darcy told herself again and again to stop wishing to see Steve smile.  

For Steve, avoiding uncomfortable thoughts was easier during the day.  He contacted the Avengers’ Base and did reports. He rechecked hopeless leads on Bucky. He looked over intel on Thor’s enemies.  He patrolled the farm and checked alarms.  He helped out- chopping wood, loading baskets of apples and pumpkins onto the truck bound for Market, and raking leaves. He struggled not to stare at Darcy as she cuddled her kitten, playfully climbed trees while picking apples, or made harvested goods into delicious preserves and baked goods.  He tried not to get caught up in the rhythm as she danced to music that played while she cooked in her favorite cast-iron pan (one she assured him she could do miracles with).  He urged himself to ignore how smart she was as she communicated with Jane or dealt with estate lawyers and farm laborers.

He failed.

Nighttime was even harder. Steve wasn’t as enamored of electronics as Darcy. He read books from the packed shelves, paced, patrolled, and fought the opportunities for unwanted introspection.  When he woke from dreams or nightmares he ran the perimeter of her property and let the nighttime chill chase away the remnants of his imaginings. 

Weeks passed.

Darcy gave him the space he needed, difficult as that was.  Her kitten was excessively cuddled. From what little Steve said of his 21st century life, she didn’t hear hints of comfort and solace in it.  The more she saw of him, the lonelier and sadder he seemed.  Reluctantly, she kept to herself and let him do the same… as long as he could stand it.  She repressed grins every time he drifted closer.

More and more he sought her out and stole moments of comforting normalcy. He lurked nearby when she stargazed, telling himself that an enemy might get past sensors and alarms to whisk her away.  She pretended not to notice his reticence and educated him about the stars, planets, and constellations.  Her descriptions set him to dreaming of the finest telescopes on Earth, of Asgard’s wonders as described by Dr. Foster, of the hope of alliances with races from other worlds, and the chance to see beauties beyond imagination.   _Hope._ It almost hurt him to let hope in. He was as enchanted by the spark in Darcy’s eyes as she drew him into conversation as he was by ideas that appealed to his long-held fascination for learning, science, and science fiction.  

Though he’d abandoned his drawing in favor of battles for the time being, his fingers itched to commit images of Darcy to paper. He studied her features, scrutiny that had her blushing and working harder to keep up her casual façade.  The variety of emotions her eyes clearly conveyed lit him up, even as he willfully misunderstood. The laughter in her voice gave him equal parts pain and delight. Stories about her work and friendship with Jane left him breathless. Her devotion to friendship reminded him too much of Bucky.  Darcy and Jane clearly looked out for each other. He didn’t begrudge their contentment, but sure as hell envied it.

Darcy cajoled him to play cards with her sometimes. He lost most hands and suspected that she somehow cheated (beyond leaning in to allow him clandestine, distracted glimpses down the neckline of her shirt). He demurred when she asked if he’d like to play for stakes.  Money wasn’t an issue since he’d learned that the Army owed him vast back-pay, but he wasn’t sure what stakes Darcy intended and feared to ask. Armies from outer space were far easier to deal with than a fascinating, beautiful woman… or the wicked voice in his head that suggested they play strip poker so he could learn how she’d react to a naked Captain America.  He suspected that she was more interested than she let on, but he doubted himself with women. He wondered.

She cooked more than he would let himself eat, better food than most he’d ever tasted. When she caught him making mental notes about her recipes, she ignored his embarrassment and began cooking lessons. His reserve slipped and he shared memories of his Ma and of life with Bucky’s family. The close quarters of Darcy’s kitchen ensured that they bumped pleasurably against one another from time to time. His traitorous body learned her scent and savored the feel of every contact with her.  

When Steve couldn’t stand to interact for even one more second, she didn’t push.  She obliged him with silence and room to breathe. It gave her time to cool down, too. While he was in no state to form any romantic attachment, she was.  Daily contact with handsome, sexy, tragic Steve Rogers- who’d forgotten how good a person he was- made her heart flutter against all warnings from her head.  Unlike her fearless kitten, which climbed all over Steve and refused to let him avoid giving affection, Darcy followed Steve’s unspoken cues and the ebb and flow of his mood.  Far beyond impatient, she barely managed not to scream whenever he called her ' _Miss Lewis_.' It drove her insane to hold back so completely, but she did what he thought he needed.

Once or twice he turned around and caught her making faces at him, but overall, she succeeded in treating him as an acquaintance rather than as a man she wanted to comfort endlessly and/or savagely climb.  

It made him feel worse. So did the desperately-lurid and comfortable, domestic dreams he began to have about Darcy every night.  In his dreams, he laughed with her, delighting in warmth and peace.  Or, dream-him ravaged her for hours.  He couldn’t deny his attraction to her.  He’d met women as pretty, except when Darcy smiled. Her smile hit him like a bolt of lightning and tore down his every shield. In his current state of mind, that smile gave him equal parts pain and pleasure.

Then, the alarms sounded.

When the attack came, Steve responded viciously, as though the mercenaries had inflicted every loss he’d suffered or ever would.  He fought as well as he ever had and with singular determination to keep Darcy safe. Still, it was Darcy who took down the last invader- with her cast-iron fry pan. 

Staring at the prone man, Steve began to laugh admiringly.

Still holding the pan at the ready and shaking with unspent adrenaline, Darcy snapped. “ ** _Now_**  you’re capable of an expression other than a scowl?”  

Steve stood taller than Darcy had seen since his arrival, his voice full of feeling, “Are you okay?” She nodded. He took a deep breath, “’M sorry.  My Ma would say that I fell into a sulk.”

Darcy arched a brow and put a hand to one cocked hip. “Your Ma’d be right... Steve.”  On top of everything else, the sight of Steve's smile was nearly too much for her.  She wavered, wondering if it was best to keep up her facade or if it was time to inch closer.

Tension eroded as he sighed.  “Yes, Miss Lewis, she would- always was.” In that instant he understood Darcy’s expression. He saw her impatience and a wish that he would call her by her given name and behave with more familiarity- WANT. A fearful thrill cut through him as he realized that she wanted the kind of closeness he only let himself dream.  If he freed those feelings, she would meet him halfway.  

He wished he was worthy, wished he was different… wondered…

One of the fallen attackers groaned.  The sound broke the moment and pulled Steve back into battle mode.

Steve dragged the invaders into the barn and bound them there while Darcy called the authorities.  The police came, took statements, and removed the attackers for processing.  They asked Steve and Darcy to remain available for further statements on the incident for another few days.

After the authorities were gone, Steve was surprised to find his arms full of trembling Darcy.  She pressed her head against his shoulder and whispered, “I was scared.”  Full of regret, she wished she hadn’t hesitated earlier.  She wondered…

He wrapped his arms around her and marveled at the way their bodies fit together.  Her hands grasped at his back and he savored the honesty in her need. It was like something out of a dream.

He rasped, “it’s okay, Miss Lewis.”

She choked, nodded, and fled to her bedroom. He paced the living room for thirty minutes while berating himself, after which she returned, eyes red but her chin held high.  She went back to work as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.  It almost hurt to see her shield in place, so like his own.  He stayed close, handing her ingredients and fetching pans.

That night, Steve complimented the stew Darcy made for dinner and thanked her for her kindness. “You’re amazing, and this place is perfect.” He struggled to keep sadness from his voice.

She sat in a rocking chair by the fire, knitting.  “I’m barely scraping by and the roof leaks, but thanks.  My Auntie Rose, my great aunt, retired here.  Imagine my surprise a few years ago when I learned she was SHIELD, once upon a time.  A jack-booted thug in the family! Honestly?  It made sense of so much, and I loved hearing the stories she finally shared, once I'd signed my way through a thousand and one forms promising to keep my mouth shut about Thor and other SHIELD stuff."  Darcy's grin faded. "She loved the farm and taught me lots about it when I was little, but it’s different being the one responsible.”  She paused, voice catching, “I inherited recently.”

His brow furrowed.  “I’m sorry for the loss of your aunt.”  His hands twisted with anxiety. The thought of Darcy’s grief penetrated his own and left him feeling less isolated.

“It’s okay. She died like she wanted.  She woke up one day and went out to work in the pumpkin patch and keeled over right there.”  Darcy’s grin wavered as she gestured out the window with her knitting. “Rose lived a full life.  She even worked alongside the legendary Peggy Carter, a shit-stirrer if I ever heard of one.”   Darcy waggled a knowing brow at Steve.  Her smile twisted, both comforting him and acknowledging Peggy’s continued presence in his heart.

Steve barked a laugh.  “She wouldn’t put it quite that way, but you’re right.”  He ate until he was full and savored everything.  His skin prickled as he thought of leaving- soon.

“Do you always have a stick up your butt until the job is done?”

Her blunt question startled him enough that he smiled again.  “Stark’d say the stick’s always there.” Wistfully, he realized that he was always on the job, too… by his choice.

Darcy kept her eyes on her work, but her tone needled him.  “Are you aware that every Avenger suffers PTSD?  I only minored in Psychology, but it’s clear as day.  I don’t know if Stark got help after Afghanistan, but Thor never had counseling about Loki trying to murder him or their dick of a dad ejecting him to this ‘ _lesser realm_ ’.  It’s pretty damned clear that you’re tied up with grief and guilt and self-loathing.  You ought to talk to someone about it. Aunt Rose was an even better cook, but I’m good.  No one has ever glared murderously at my pecan rolls before.  No one! Most people act like they’re having an orgasm after bite one.”

His mouth fell open.  “There’s a vivid image.” The heat of forbidden desires curled through him.

Her lips formed a languid smile.  “There’s more where that came from, when the time is right.”

Sighing, Steve sat back in his chair and forced himself calm.  “I wanted all this, a home and a woman who cooked and sewed and called me out on my nonsense. But, I’m Captain America.” Never had that claim sounded so weak in his own ears.

Her eyes narrowed.  “So, you think Fate’s a bitch taunting you with my pecan rolls?”

Laughter bubbled up in him, nearly hysterical.  “Something like that. And, I’m sorry.  Your pecan rolls  **are**  delicious.”  His eyes said what he couldn’t- how much he admired her, all that he wasn’t capable of in his current grief. 

Her expression was guileless.  “Good.  I’m making pecan rolls again in the morning.  I want to see your ‘ _O face_ ’.”

He closed his eyes, blushed, and groaned.  “You’re a piece of work.” The kitten batted at some loose yarn by his feet.  He let the little scamp nuzzle his dangling fingers.

Darcy continued her knitting. “I had the idea, from History books and from Rose’s accounts, that the good man named Steve Rogers was more significant to the success of the Super-Soldier program than the perfect soldier named Captain America.  I’m sorry to hear that you’re so busy that you can’t just be a man.”  She allowed her frustration to show.

Steve sucked in a harsh breath, trying to ignore the ghost whisper of Erskine urging him to remain _a good man_.  “I can be a man.”  Throat dry and thick, he felt a mixture of relief and dismay as his phone rang and interrupted him.  Avoiding Darcy’s perceptive gaze, he took the call.  “Rogers…”

An hour later, Steve stood on the porch waiting for a Quinjet to take him away. Darcy scooped up the kitten and held it close.  “Little Celeste is gonna miss you.  She’s got a crush.”  Darcy avoided his gaze.

Steve stepped close enough to scratch the kitten’s chin.  Celeste purred and rubbed against his finger.  Darcy fidgeted. He became aware of her heat and how close he stood to her. He sighed, “I hope no one else bothers you… or Celeste.”

Darcy gave him a crooked grin. “I still have my fry pan.”  Her gaze was unfocused as she looked into the distance.  “My info has it that the guy who followed me is the one I conked on the head.  Maybe I scrambled his memories enough to keep him from thinking to send others.”

His stomach churned uneasily. “While your combat skill with it is awe-inspiring, I’d prefer to think of you using your pan to cook.”  He texted the man’s name to Hill, asking that he be put in solitary and interrogated to verify Darcy’s info. Steve also requested SHIELD agents be assigned in his place.  He could practically hear Hill snapping at him as her immediate reply informed him she’d already arranged everything.

Darcy winked at him.  “Aww, Cap.  You DO care.”

He nodded.  He liked Darcy, knew he could care much more if he let himself. Some part of him still reached for old dreams.  He wondered if old dreams would fade or grow as more time passed and he either healed from his grief or shut himself away from it permanently.  Unselfishly, he wanted this place, and Darcy, to remain untouched by his world.  He wanted an oasis to exist.

Their eyes met as they both heard the approaching jet.

She gave him a large, brown-paper bag.  “Food for the road.  Ya know- something to remember me by, at least until you’re done eating.”  She leaned up and kissed his cheek.  Her fingers grasped rough material on the arm of his jacket.

He swallowed a cry protesting he’d never forget her, looked down into her eyes, and felt panic rise as he blurted, “may I kiss you goodbye?”

She nodded and waited as he cupped her jaw in his hand and lowered his lips to touch hers.

The kiss was soft and simple- and right.  Their lips fit together easily.  Images flashed through his mind- warmth and joy, a good life. Before he could give into the temptation to deepen the kiss, he pulled back. His heart pounded rapidly and his hand shook noticeably against her cheek.

Perhaps old dreams weren’t so easily dismissed, after all. He wondered.

Darcy whispered, “you okay there, Cap?”  Her gaze was knowing- simultaneously calling him closer again and letting him go.  His admiration for her increased.

“Take care, Darcy.” He nodded stiffly and backed away.  

Her ready grin flashed, triumphant.  “Ha! You forgot to call me Miss Lewis!”  The grin faded as his expression shifted and tightened.  Regret showed in her face for a split second as she waved.  “Bye, Steve.”

Understanding that she meant the glimpse she’d seen of HIM was past, he nodded acknowledgment and trotted to the Quinjet, satisfied as he met the agents Hill had assigned to look after Darcy while the attack on her was investigated.

As the Quinjet gained altitude, he let himself look back with longing.  All too soon, he forced his mind back into battle.

**_Fin_**

 

**Author's Note:**

> …Part 2 in this series, set six months later (post CACW), is a WIP
> 
> This story was post 1000 on [my @shieldshockfanfic blog over on Tumblr.](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/shieldshockfanfic) If you like the OTP Steve Rogers/Darcy Lewis, come visit!


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